


Pig visit

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [102]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: ...reread this and liked it too much to let it rot in my docs folder, Gen, Old Writing, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: Just a brief visit to the pig village.
Series: DS Extras [102]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Kudos: 14





	Pig visit

**Author's Note:**

> Due to it being 2021 now, technically this was written 3 years ago <:|
> 
> Decided to post it since I'm looking through old wips/mostly finished works and wondering what to do with them.

Winter just started and here he was.

Trying to haggle with pigs.

Maxwell forced himself to not roll his eyes, face already hardened into an almost sneer as the particularly stupid pigman in front of him eyed what he was offering, turning the object in its twisted hooved hands and blinking dark beady eyes at it.

“It not broke?” The pig tapped the teacup, giving him a squinted look, snout wrinkling in the corners. It wasn't at all fazed by his demeaning look, as dull and simple as every other pig here, and really the only reason he was even talking to this one at all was the fact that it was shorter than him.

Not by a lot, but it would do for now. These damn things got so big so quickly, and it was frustrating having to actually look up and see a dripping snout and a gaping block toothed mouth hovering over him. Not to mention the stink of these things either.

He had been hoping the colder weather would be able to do away with most of that, but unfortunately even being this close the pig gave off a horrendous sweaty smell, and the only reason Maxwell wasn't currently losing his lunch was the fact that he hasn't been around the most pleasant of odorous places in quite awhile.

It was rather terrible to realize that the damn pig village of all places smelled better than nearby beefalo herds. He'll have to reconsider where he should put his camp next time.

“As I've said, brand new.” Maxwell wrapped his fur cloak about him tighter, fighting the shiver that was going up his spine. Early winter and it was already much too cold. “I haven't even used it, if that matters to you at all.”

The pig snorted, wrinkling its snout as it gave the crack in the teacups side a searching look. Maxwell stubbornly ignored that, instead straightening himself up and looking boredly around the small village. The sun was starting to dip now, and many of the inhabitants have already retired for the day.

The heavy hood of the cloak weighed on his neck, pulled back to make sure he was more easily recognizable by the village itself, one he's unfortunately had to visit on many an occasion. Not something he truly wished to waste his time with, but it was more preferred to spelunking in the caves. Winter down there was harsh, even for a quick visit, and the gold here was practically free. Toss a pig something useless and get something with a bit more to it in return.

Maxwell was being truthful in a sense; he's never used the damn thing, not once, and it was brand new.

From the grave he had dug up, anyway.

From the look of it, the unlucky fellow had died with much comfort surrounding him. Someone, or perhaps multiple someones, had obviously cared enough about burying personal effects and carving lasting words into the tombstone.

Unfortunate that the words were desecrated now and that no one was to ever read that skeletons name ever again, of which Maxwell had very spitefully thrown to the ensuing wave of hounds that had tried to ambush him.

Death, and infinite time, always had a way with amnesia in this place.

Maxwell did, however, keep a hold of the glasses. Would never admit to anyone, but it was rather unfortunate that he still needed them in some cases.

He had no idea how they came about here, but he was not seeking any answers, and perhaps just did not care. If he was careful enough this time around, perhaps he'd not end up having another blank spot in his memory. 

Hopefully he'd not be remembering any of that anytime soon. Always off putting.

“Fine.” The pig snorted loudly, raising its beady eyes to look up at him, hooves clasped around the cup. “I keep this now.”

“I expect fair payment.”

The pig wrinkled its snout at him, short tusks bared for a moment, and Maxwell glowered down in answer.

These damn things got difficult at times, but they weren't crooks.

After a moment the pig rummaged around in its stall, snorting as it bent down and pushed away a few baskets and crates, teacup still in one hand. When it finally rose up and held out a few gold nuggets to him, Maxwell silently counted them out, grinding his teeth.

Not the amount he personally wanted, especially after the trouble he had with those hounds, but judging from the hard look the pig was giving him it had obviously noticed the damage of the item he had been offering. At least it was paying up.

Snatching the gold up, hurriedly hiding his cold hands back under the cloak and stuffing them into the bag at his side, Maxwell gave the pig a slight nod before turning away, schooling his face into not showing his displeasure as plainly as he wished. They were uncivilized swine, but that did not mean he could act willy nilly around them. 

He's found other peoples heads stuck around this place before, though not as often as of late, and with a little nosing around it was revealed that many survivors were rude little bastards when it came to treating the pigs in a right manner. These pigmen didn't bad mouth their kills, but the disrespect was easy enough to hear, and then eventually see when visited often enough.

A little barbaric, perhaps, and Maxwell had taken precautions to not be too much of a nuisance while in the village. He'd rather not be the next head staked on the outskirts of the village, for damnable pigs to spit and piss on whenever they so choose.

Disgusting, but unfortunately these creatures had access to things he did not. Gold was harder to come by after having mined most of it off the surface, and the pigs were just fine going down in the dark whenever they wished.

Even if they were stingy bastards about it. Three nuggets for a well made, abet cracked and worn teacup? Maxwell felt a little cheated.

Perhaps he should have seeked out a more reliable, although a bit taller, pig.

His own footsteps were quieter, shallower than the nearby pigs heavy hoofed weight, the mix of slushed mud and snow not too difficult to pass through just yet with it being padded down by hooved feet. Passing several houses, mini yards fluffed with clear snow and the lights winking out as he passed by, just to flick back on without his presence, Maxwell huffed an irritated sigh.

Hooves clunked behind him, a small spattering of noise following, and Maxwell stubbornly ignored the sound. It wasn't quite dusk, still clearly light out, but it was getting colder, and he had hoped that it would have been enough to keep his visit short and with very little asked of him.

Unfortunately that didn't seem to be the case. The little hoof steps were certainly following him.

Grinding his teeth, the former Shadow King almost was able to ignore it. But already they were whispering and squealing to each other, whatever foul personal language the pigs had that he still didn't know how they learned, and he slowed his pace, realizing that they were much too close for his comfort.

With that, Maxwell spun around on his heel, raised up his arms and bared his teeth, making as much of a sharp toothed, horrifying monster look as he possibly could, and proceeded to hiss “BOO!” as loudly, as surprising and suddenly as possible.

The piglets stumbled against each other, scrambling back and squealing with the most horrified looks he's ever seen on a pig. One almost lost its hat, another did, and then they darted off to hide behind the sparse buildings and empty stalls, wide eyed, trembling stares watching him as their pudgy bodies trembled and clung to their bad hiding places.

Maxwell straightened up, may have chuckled a bit since seeing a bunch of tiny pigs rush off like that was a little entertaining, still smirking at the little things watching him, but then there was a snort of noise nearby.

A pigman was scowling at him, beady eyes narrowed, and it was certainly much larger than himself.

He quieted quickly, again remembering the rotting heads on the outskirts. Being added to that bunch was not his life's goal.

Schooling his expression and ignoring the nearby boars glare, Maxwell turned right around to continue on his way, the light powdering of snow from this morning already mixed with mud and making the already cold and miserable road even more so. The hoof prints, some quite larger than others, didn't help in this lesser used area and Maxwell wrapped his cloak about himself a little tighter and focused on moving forward. He could still feel the pig watching him, and that didn't help in the slightest.

However not even a minute passed before, once again, there was the scuffle of small hooves and whispering pig words behind him, trailing him. A little more distance this time around, but still. What a nuisance.

It wasn't uncommon, to be followed like this, but it was certainly not appreciated. Especially when he was being followed by a rabble of patchwork hatted piglets, all round and well fed.

Perhaps that was why they seemed to have so much interest. It wasn't every day that a pig child got to see some sort of starving creature of their world.

Maxwell grumbled to himself, tightened the beefalo fur cloak and, after a moment of slowing his step as to not trip, he got the hood up and over his head. The piglets behind him giggled loudly, still following closely, and chattered to each other in excited, high pitched oinkish voices.

All he wanted was the damn gold, not to be some sort of spectacle to underage pigs, and certainly not to be their entertainment for the evening.

It would take quite a long time for him to be out on his own before he gave in and attempted magic shows for pig villages of all places. 

And he was very much not at that point yet, and hopefully never would be.

Thankfully he was nearing the edge of the village, muddied road becoming less of a road and more undisturbed snow, less dirt and hoof prints. The piglets wouldn't be following him out here.

They did make a racket at his leaving, however, all snorts and gibbered language that made him roll his eyes and sneer, but he didn't even slow his step, nor give the village a last look.

Night would fall quickly, what with this quickening winter season, and he had gotten what he wanted from the damnable things. There was no more reason for him to stay longer.

Camp was still a ways away, at least a whole days worth of travel through the steadily growing piles of snow, and there was no way Maxwell would even attempt to walk the entire night there. With his day wasted here, haggling with pigs and ignoring their annoying spawn, he'd be making his way back to camp tomorrow and hopefully get there before dark. 

His luck was never the best, but it wasn't a supply run or resource gather or, god forbid, a fight he was traveling to. He was just going home, with only three pieces of gold to show for his trouble.

The temporary base he had set up was behind a thick tree line, safely away enough from the village but enough for him to run there in little time if he had to. It couldn't quite be called a base, as he had not even put that much work into it, but Maxwell shrugged off his bag from his shoulder into the undisturbed snow to kneel by the fire pit, already cold enough to make his hands shake and shiver as he started the fire.

It was literally the only thing he had set up himself here, nothing else but the snow and dirt and dead grass, barren, thorny birch trees ringing the place and creating a shelter against the wind.

No wind now, but it gave him a sense of ease at least. 

It took a few tries of getting his hands to work, gloves doing nothing against the cold and teeth chattering by the time flame actually caught, and Maxwell crouched close as he fed twigs and old pine cones to the fire, trying to encourage it into something a little stronger.

He didn't have many logs on hand, always seemed to be wanting for wood all the time, but Maxwell risked the resource as he carefully placed one into the stone ring, the fire taking a moment of licking the bark before finally catching. The heat from that was much better than twigs, the color much warmer, and Maxwell sighed heavily, warming his hands and trying to massage feeling back into them.

At that point the sun had drastically dipped, the seasons short day cycles already in effect, and with that thought in mind Maxwell gave the falling sun an unamused look before turning around to start brushing snow out of the way. Being soaking wet in the winter was not what he wanted, and his clothing got wet far too easily. He'd rather not have a ruined suit this early either, and with a few broad strokes Maxwell attempted to swipe snow out of his way.

The little spot he uncovered still had grass, damp and drooping yet still green, very much alive, and Maxwell shook his hand and curled his fingers to do away with the snow shoveling he just had to do. With the fire roaring strongly and bathing his back with warmth, Maxwell scooted around and placed himself into the cleared patch, now facing the fire and its drifting smoke.

Which wasn't at all what he wanted to be inhaling right then and there, but if he squinted his watering eyes and fought off coughing he'd be able to weather the smoke for a few moments, wait for it to change direction.

Took longer than he wished, Maxwell ending up coughing into the crook of his arm and cursing the fact that the smoke had to be blowing directly where he had decided to sit, and for a moment almost decided to not be stubborn and just clear off another spot of powder snow.

And then a cold breeze blew through and the smoke changed direction, giving him cleaner air as the old man tried to scrub the smoke from his eyes. He could breathe now, but Maxwell had to curl his cloak about him and draw his knees up as the temperature dropped with the sunlight.

This was going to be a long winter night.


End file.
